Chick Hearn's passing Monday was regarded as something more than a huge local story in Los Angeles, which would not have happened had he been Chick Hearn, longtime voice of the Washington Wizards.

But the only full-time voice the Lakers ever had was also one of the last of a vanishing breed of announcers who, in addition to getting the score right, midwifing clever phrases and reading promos convincingly, also found the time to mix in a bit of truth now and then.

	Chick Hearn was never shy about pointing out shortcomings of players and team management during his 40 seasons as Lakers broadcaster.

In short, Chick would, when needed, rip the Lakers for indifferent, uninspired or just plain dreadful play.

Hearn could get away with it because (a) he was the resident expert on the Lakers, (b) he was the city's clearest link to the team, and (c) it never occurred to him to lie to the listeners. He knew that homers are easy to find in the great pigpile of broadcasting majors out there, but that objectivity, intelligence and fluency are rarer, and therefore far more valuable and lasting commodities.

Hearn was part of a core group of longtime NBA broadcasters who learned the craft of announcing, the art of seeing what they said and saying what they saw, and the diligence to learn pro basketball in ways that many players never did. George Blaha in Detroit ... Bill Schonely in Portland ... Bill King in Oakland ... Johnny Most in Boston ... Joe Tait in Cleveland ... Marv Albert in New York ... Ralph Lawlor with the Clippers ... Al McCoy in Phoenix ... They knew it, they got it, and they said it. Even if the "it" was uncomplimentary.

Now when they die, only Albert will receive as much notice as Hearn did in passing, because he worked in New York and also did network television, although unlike Hearn, he skipped "Bowling For Dollars." But they all performed the delicate skill of being an advocate for both the company and the customer.

We mention this because that skill is far less prized nowadays. Now, the radio voice comes younger, cheaper, and is largely loath to criticize the team that fills out his time card each week. The radio voice is more a wing of the marketing arm than the media arm. The radio voice is supposed to be selling, not telling.

And the radio voice knows this because his bosses are now usually found in the marketing subsection of the modern pro sports organization. Thus, he (or she) either learns to adapt to the new ways, or he (or she) is replaced by someone who will.

Hearn, like Blaha, Schonely, King, et al., knew the game could not only be sold with honesty, but sold far better with honesty. When Hearn would say, "Kobe is playing completely out of control," he brought with him not only decades of trust and knowledge but the freedom to use them. Listeners liked that, which is why he lasted more than 40 years.

Yet when Hearn's obit was written so many times by so many people, his willingness to earhole the Lakers as willingly as the opponent was rarely mentioned. "Slam dunk," "The mustard's off the hot dog," "Dribble drive," "No harm, no foul" and Hearn's other catchphrases were recorded with almost doctrinal fervor.

But the honesty he and his contemporaries brought to the job is more important than any tongue-twister he ever brought to the public. They may not see it that way, because they take their freedom to be themselves almost for granted. Their successors, who as a rule aren't granted that liberty, didn't see it because they've never known what it could be like to say, "Our team stinks tonight, ladies and gentlemen."

The listeners know, though. They've always known. Whether they listened to Chick Hearn or Johnny Most or Bill King or any of the other members of the NBA formative broadcasters, they knew what they were getting, and they treasure it all the more now that it is disappearing.

Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com